


Case #1: Mr. Whiskers

by Jeepers_Creepers



Series: Valentine's Case Files [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Kittens, New Vegas oc, Original Character(s), Snark, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 04:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7998862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeepers_Creepers/pseuds/Jeepers_Creepers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a feline absconder brings a crying girl to Nick's office, the Commonwealth's most effective detective is roped into yet another case. Luck brings him together with a companion for the trip, but it doesn't seem to stay with him for long. Even with a new ally at his side, closing this case may entail more than Valentine bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Case #1: Mr. Whiskers

Somehow, days in the Commonwealth never seemed to turn out the way Nick planned. Between thieves, disappearances, and wayward dames there was always something for the synth detective to help out with. It wasn't for the faint of heart, sure, but at the end of the day he could rest easy knowing he'd done his part to help make life a little bit better for everyone else.

That was, of course, until Ellie popped in during the early morning hours and gave him the rundown on the Commonwealth's latest disaster. The detective's life didn't lack for excitement, at least.

The case had started out simple: Lacey Birmingham, the daughter of some Diamond City residents, had lost her cat. She had been welcomed in with surprise and concern, but it wasn't a full minute into her story before Ellie had agreed to take the case, tears in her eyes for both the child and the feline absconder.

Nick blinked his eerie yellow eyes in a double take of sorts, resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, and instead decided to get any details he could from the crying nine-year-old. To avoid alienating his smallest client, he did his best to fold his tall frame down closer to Lacey's level, "Okay, just tell me where it was you last saw—"

"Mr. Whiskers," she sniffled.

"Mr. Whiskers," he echoed reassuringly, taking a small moment to himself not to laugh.

He naturally had many talents from the real life Nick Valentine, but having to look a child in the eyes and keep his composure as she told him her cat was named 'Mr. Whiskers' was a new one.

Still, she managed to tell him through small tears and staccatoed words that her cat—which was truly more of a kitten—was a small, skittish brown and white splotchy thing that liked mirelurk cakes and milk.

Less pertinent information aside, he at least ascertained the cat would be easy to pick out in a crowd of the things, as most cats he had seen didn't have the bright blue eyes she spoke of.

Old world detectives would've balked at being used as animal control, but Nick couldn't look at the girl in little pigtails and a gingham dress and tell her to hit the road.

Instead he stood back up, releasing a gentle sigh as his aging knees settled into place and he allowed the corner of his lips turn up in a friendly smile, "Well, little missy, I'm on the case." Her face brightened, but Nick still couldn't help but notice how far too small she was for the old wooden office chair she sat in. The wasteland didn't spare anyone worries.

"Thank you, Mr. Valentine; Please please please find him! He's really sweet, and my mom says he probably just ran off but I know that's not true. Mr. Whiskers would never leave." Despite the tear streaks down her cheeks, little Lacey was adamant.

"Don't worry sweetie, if anyone can find your kitten it's Mr. Valentine; he's like a superhero—a grumpy, old, detective superhero, who fights evil-doers just like the Silver Shroud!" Ellie chimed in, making extravagant displays with her hands as she attempted to cheer her up. It was always so easy for Ellie to smile like that, laughing like a kid herself.

Nick was always at a loss with that sort of thing, and was relieved he had Ellie to do it. It wasn't that he didn't like children—he was actually quite fond of the little anklebiters—it was just that he was always worried of scaring them, and found it hard to be 'silly'. What was the use of a smile like that if he had a chunk out of his neck?

Somehow, though, it worked, and those little eyes trailed up from his pink-scarved assistant and set upon him with a new light, 'superhero' ringing in their reflections.

Funny how much that word still meant these days, he thought.

After asking every question he thought could be useful and politely refusing the handful of caps she stuck out, Nick asked Ellie to walk Lacey back home. The quiet that befell the room gave him time to think and he leaned back in his chair, pondering as he often did in such lulls.

 _Superhero, huh?_ So many other things had fallen by the wayside, but it seemed like everyone still looked for heroes in between the raiders, mutants, and thugs.

Before the bombs they were stuck in comics or relegated to the hokey audio plays over the radio, but in the wasteland Nick understood why so many people held onto that kind of hope. It was simple kindnesses: helping a settlement in need, saving a life, doing what was right—people were always waiting for someone to come along to prove to them everyone wasn't all bad.

It may not have sounded like much at one time, but with one look around at the Commonwealth it was easy to see how much people needed help and how little they recieved. A hero went out of their way to help the little guy, and he couldn't help but hope some of his clients could look back on him like that: someone who helped just because he believed that was the way the world should work.

Nick took the concept in a literal sense, of course, but the sentiment was appreciated even if when he gazed over at himself in the cracked mirror he only ever saw the ragged old synth he always did.

Still, a ghost of a smile haunted his lips. It was the Commonwealth, after all, and stranger things had happened.

\------

When Ellie returned, humming a little tune and daintily clicking the door shut so as not to disturb her boss, Nick's yellow eyes flicked up from his new file. "Ellie."

His voice was enough to stop her, and she looked at him like she knew it was coming. Sheepish pause melting into her excuse, she couldn't help but seem like she had been tattled on. "Mr. Valentine, I know I jumped the gun there a bit, but before you say it: how could we have said no? She was _heartbroken_."

The old synth sighed, "I don't want to dissapoint the kid if I can't find the cat."

"But you will!"

"Now we don't know that; that cat could be halfway to Timbuktu by now."

Ellie's face scrunched up, "Timbuktu?"

Taking a moment, Nick let out a long sigh. Even after all those years, it was easy to forget how little post-war Commonwealth inhabitants knew of the world. He was stuck as the old man making old references to a crowd that only ever seemed to get younger and younger.

"Never mind. Point is, I don't know how far," he squinted down at his notes, "'Brown and white kitten with blue eyes and really, _really_ fluffy body' will take me."

"You'll get it," she beamed, "'Cause I know you and you couldn't walk back in here and look that girl in the eyes and say you didn't have her kitten."

Unable to decide whether that was a kind note towards his character or secretly a little impish, Nick stood and tucked his notepad into it's spot in the inner breast pocket of his fading trenchcoat. "I'll go see what I can do, then," he said.

"Oh, let me see it when you find it, alright? I'm excited already."

His assistant was nothing if not enthusiastic, he'd give her that. "Just hope it's still in one piece," he teased dryly, heading for the door.

He smiled a bit to himself as he heard her admonishing cry of, _"Mr. Valentine!"_ as he stepped out onto the streets of Diamond City.

\------

Well, he hated to be right in these kinds of situations, but after three whole days of searching he was no closer to finding Mr. Whiskers than when he had first heard of the case. That wasn't good.

Nick had to admit that as a gumshoe there would always be unsolved cases that sat under his bed, nestling their way into the corners of his mind as he laid just above them late at night, but this could not afford to be one of them. Every day lowered the feline's chances, and every night was one another a little girl had to go to sleep without her pet.

He couldn't keep rustling bushes and questioning everyone he caught sight of—it was starting to get weird, even for him.

It had been "Sorry, Nick"s all across the board, and he couldn't crawl around on all fours holding out a bowl of mirelurk meat for much longer before it started to smell.

Taking a break to sit at Power Noodles and regroup he scanned his worn notes, his own large and scrunched handwriting stark against fading yellow paper. It was a list, with names all followed by, 'No, No, No, No, No.' Not the most inspiring of witness responses.

Staring down at his disgruntling list in the early morning light, he heard the familiar stilted question, "Nan-ni shimasho-ka?"

Without looking up, he politely waved Takahashi off, "No thanks, pal."

"Well what if _I_ want some breakfast, huh?" A teasing voice asked from beside him, and he turned to see a chestnut-eyed woman sitting down. Dressed in her usual duster, she grinned, tanned complexion stark against the same red bandana she had worn when Nick had first met her.

"Oh, Rory," the synth didn't hide the surprise in his voice, "what are you doing out here?"

She cracked a lopsided smile, "What, you figured I shoulda moved on back out to the Mojave already?"

Nick knew full well the cowgirl was just pulling his leg, and goodnaturedly rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure."

"So, what is it you've got goin' on these days, Mr. Valentine?" the woman drawled, a mess of freckles and long sandy hair under a cowboy hat.

_"Nick."_

"What?"

"You can just call me Nick, little miss Western."

Rory gave him another smile, raising her hand to get the Protectron's attention and responding 'yes' to Takahashi's only question. A bowl of noodles was placed on the counter with all the grace the robot could muster and she thanked him cheekily, knowing full well Takahashi wasn't going to be responding any time soon. "I'll call ya Nick when the Brahmin come home or you start calling me Chess, Mr. Valentine."

Nick laughed, meeting her homey eyes, "I'm afraid your manners don't count for much out here, miss, but I appreciate it. The only one who calls me 'Mr. Valentine' any more is Ellie."

"Well that's 'cause ya give her caps every week for it," Rory teased, snapping apart her chopsticks.

The detective hadn't spent much time with her, but the Goodneighbor resident had a bit of a reputation among people in the Commonwealth. It didn't surprise Nick—she was hard to miss. Leaning back, he saw exactly what he expected: two dogs resting peacefully on the ground, quiet shadows behind her.

"So what is it you got goin' on these days? Savin' kittens from trees or something?" She joked, slurping up her noodles. Nick almost didn't have the heart to admit that, yes, that was pretty close to what he was doing.

Still, it was a strange stroke of wasteland luck to run into the famed 'animal whisperer', but he wasn't about to question it. Luck was already a shy enough mistress, and Nick knew better than most how strangely the world worked. One day you were laying at the top of a trash heap, the next you were convincing a group of kidnappers you had a self-destruct sequence. It happened.

The synth's eyes seemed to twinkle as he looked back at her, and a wry smile twisted the side of his lips, "Now that you mention it, kid, I am, and you're just who I need for the job."

\------

Nose to the ground, Dogmeat led them with confidence along the Commonwealth.

Up into houses, down stairs, squeezing through rubble, they followed the swishing tail of the shepherd.

"If I didn't know Dogmeat I'd say he was just playing with us here," Nick said, watching the dog zig-zag back and forth in front of them.

"He's the best tracker I've seen—Roscoe gets irritated if he can't find it quick enough, but Dogmeat'll stick with it 'til his nose is sore."

Valentine's gaze drifted from Rory down to the smaller dog at her side, who trotted along with an air of resentment on his aged face. Before Nick could say anything, the cowgirl beat him to it, "Roscoe hates to be outshined, pure an' simple."

She smiled from Valentine to the svelte blue heeler, "he's just bein' a grump, don't mind him. He'll come 'round after Dogmeat stops trackin'." Rory pet the top of Roscoe's head and Nick found himself amused at her companion, who clearly had a lot of miles on those old doggy feet. Life was tough out there and that scruffy guy knew it.

"So, how much are you thinking you'll want for all this?"

"For following around Dogmeat for a while with ya?" Rory's brow knit and she laughed a little incredulously, "I do this all the time. Long as ya don't tell Hancock I did it for free I ain't gonna charge ya."

Nick was surprised, as most people didn't go around doing things pro bono any more. "And why is that?"

He watched as her warm eyes traced up to Dogmeat and his cheerful trot—second nature to someone who spent so much time with the dogs—before they met his again, "Well it ain't 'cause I need anything from you, if that's what you're asking."

Rory was an amiable type as far as the detective could tell, and although he couldn't say he always agreed with Hancock's methods, Nick was relieved to be spending some time with someone the mayor seemed to have taken a shine to and finding her so...normal. For post-nuclear folk, at least.

Rory seemed to be the epitome of easy-going, and as they trailed after Dogmeat she told him about herself and her travels out in the Mojave. Nick wasn't envious of plenty of her escapades, but she seemed to look back fondly on all that time in the desert.

As she was helping him for free and didn't seem to have any ulterior motives, he went against his first instinct to pry and held back the questions that all clicked into place in a neat little list in his head. Sometimes he just had to bite his tongue.

When she told him about Vegas, though, smiling as she recounted how a friend had gotten kicked off the Strip and come back escorted by two NCR soldiers drunker than he was, Valentine had one he just had to ask. "Why is it you came way out here?"

Rory stopped for a moment, and the detective noticed how she bit the corner of her lip for just a half-second. If he had blinked he would have missed it, but her easy smile twitched. Truthfully, she looked a bit uncomfortable, shifting her revolver belt. "No reason, really. Got tired of all the trouble, I guess."

It was an obvious lie. Evidently, Ms. Chesterfield wasn't very good at that sort of thing.

Nick felt a twinge of regret when the awkward silence settled between them and out of respect he didn't look over at her face, which flushed a brighter red than he had ever seen. The color crawled up her neck, blotching her tanned cheeks, and those brown eyes of hers avoided the old synth.

It had seemed like an innocent enough question, and Nick hated to make people feel like they were being interrogated when they weren't. Reading people was a messy business, and he didn't want to drag the kid down in the dumps for no reason.

Feeling bad for the youngster, he did his best to lighten the mood he had soured. "The Commonwealth isn't too bad a place to be—or so I'm _told_ ," he cracked a grin and looked up at the sun, much higher in the sky now than when they had started on the trek.

Rory was clearly glad to move onto another subject, and did her best to brighten up, too. "Well, if wasn't for all the rad storms I'd say it's one of the best places I've been; I have an awful fondness for it here." She flashed the detective a toothy grin, but they both stopped in their tracks as Dogmeat suddenly turned and circled around them, almost comically ignoring them as he brushed by their coat-tails before continuing on in a brand new direction.

"You sure Dogmeat ain't just giving us the scenic tour here, Annie Oakley?" Valentine quipped, watching the canine snuffle at the dirt, tail swooshing gently.

"Oh he's got something, all right—I just hope it's your cat."

"The bed he sniffed definitely belonged to that cat-"

"Mr. Whiskers?" Rory's interjection was just to try and rile him a bit—the animal expert had spent a good five minutes laughing at him in Diamond City as soon as he had begrudingly said the words, but he was happy to see her eyes twinkle again as she teased him. Didn't mean he was gonna let her get away with it, though.

"Yeah well you're the only one that can save this cat, miss _Chess_."

The woman who only rose to his nose laughed, a faux-competitiveness coming to her, "Are you saying you have a problem with my nickname, Mr. Valentine?"

"Only that it grinds my gears," Nick played along, having some fun at the young woman's expense.

"Oh, and why don't ya like it? I'm quite partial to it nowadays," she asked, accent-laced voice lilting.

"I don't get it— _why 'Chess'?_ "

The way her eyebrow quirked and she allowed that mischevious grin to twist her lips told him he was missing something. "Oh, come on, Mr. Valentine, I know you're old but you're a smart fella."

Hating to miss a connection, Nick closed his eyes and thought through all the things he knew about her for a moment, but as it was only their second meeting that well quickly ran dry. "I don't know what they feed you out west, but I haven't got a clue."

Rory busted into a laugh, having to stop walking to truly make fun of him. The synth was a little embarrassed, adjusting his collar, "Well what is it, then? Why the silly nickname?"

Her eyes twinkled kindly, her long strands of hair framing her face well. "My last name, _Chesterfield_."

It suddenly snapped into place for him, and he lowered his head into his skeletal hand, deeply sighing. "It's a goddamn pun."

\------

After the hours of zig-zagging, sighing as Dogmeat led them back and forth through empty buildings; skirting around corners only to skirt right back, the pair eventually just had to laugh.

'Chess' was friendlier than most he had met in the Commonwealth, and he enjoyed hearing her stories of life out west. For someone who had never seen a horse in real life, she filled in the old cowgirl role with ease. It was a strange sort of nostalgia as Nick found himself humming old theme songs to westerns as they walked.

Two-hundred years too late, but part of him wished he could just slump in a chair and watch the flickering of gunfights and lassoes late at night, thoughts of troubling cases replaced by the simple morals and tales of an old lawman. _Justice always wins._ That was what the real Nick had always enjoyed about them.

_"Now don't you go runnin' off. I'll handle these folks," the hero said, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. His tall frame took up most of the doorway as he passed through, leaving the farm boy to watch as the marshall went to meet the mob outside. Nick dragged his tired gaze up to the clock, squinting to read it with the light that flashed from the television. 1:30 in the morning. He had only gotten home an hour ago._

The sudden memory left him, just as quickly as all of them did. He hated to admit it, but once the uneasy feeling was gone part of him always longed for those times again. Times he hadn't ever truly lived.

He must have paused, because Rory gave him a funny look. "You okay there, _partner_?" The lilt in her voice was accompanied by a flick of her hat for emphasis. She was teasing him.

"Yeah, fine. Just got lost in my thoughts."

His new friend wasn't the prying type and he silently thanked her for it, watching her concerned eyes turn away as she continued on. "Fine by m-" They all stopped as Dogmeat lifted his nose to the air sharply, a low growl rumbling from deep in his throat.

Roscoe started to bark like mad, circling around Rory's legs protectively. They couldn't tell what he was barking at, but when Dogmeat joined in on the hubbub Nick felt himself instinctively reaching for his holster.

They were in the middle of the city and dead center in what looked like trouble. Five and six story buildings—once everday residential complexes—rose above them on both sides, the narrow streets barren except for debris.

He was a little surprised when Rory grabbed for the rifle on her shoulder and not the expensive-looking silver and mother-of-pearl six-shooter he had spied on her hip, but that was a point for another time. Just when he knew it would, a bullet whistled through the air and Rory was down before he could say anything.

Nick's stomach dropped, but as the next round was fired she was already scrambling back to her feet. Not needing a second invitation, the cowgirl cursed and booked it, dodging bullets and dogs underfoot as she took the nearest wall as cover.

Nick fell in beside her, letting out a long breath as he felt his back meet with brick. "You hit, kid?" he asked, raking concerned eyes over her.

The sheepish laugh she gave assuaged the detective of his worries, "Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed." With a grin she tipped her hat back on her head and checked her rifle was fully loaded, admitting, "Hit the dirt out of reflex, is all."

While he took a moment to be relieved, Rory leaned around the corner to see who they were dealing with. " _Nick!_ It's the cat!" she yelled, doing away with formalities. If Nick could have fainted he felt as though then would have dropped then and there.

"The cat?" he said back, incredulous. "What do you _mean_ it's the cat?!"

"I mean," she said, pausing to return fire to the apartment complex across the street, _"that I'm lookin' at the darn thing right now!"_

Rory pulled back as another barrage of bullets hit their hiding place and Nick heard the tell-tale yelling of raiders. Ducking his head out above her to look, he couldn't help but gawk.

There—in the arms of what looked to be the leader of the gang—was Mr. Whiskers. Not a hair on his little head harmed while in the arms of the scum du jour.

"Son of a bi-" Nick jumped back as he was sprayed by the raiders, more irritated than anything. "I can't believe it!" he said, slipping back to the dirt.

Reloading, Rory grinned at him, "Well, Mr. Valentine, it seems there's always something new to see, isn't there?" With a wink and pat to the top of Dogmeat's head the cowgirl seized an opportunity to change cover, sprinting and sliding up behind the Jersey barrier that used to divide the street in half. Nick hadn't noticed it before, but without him firing a shot five raiders were already down.

Shaking off his surprise at the sudden appearance of his cat culprit, he forced himself into action and followed suit. He had to be a _little_ more helpful than the dogs, at least.

Timing it right and managing to make the run to cover without the familiar sound of a bullet tearing through his metal body, Nick felt something akin to cockiness. "Not bad for an old hunk of junk," he said, smiling just a bit as he shot his first raider.

A chunk of his cover chipped off as numerous raiders focused their fire on him at once, trying to rain on his parade. The neat _bang, bang, bang,_ of Rory's calculated return fire ended _that._

"Why I'd say you're the fastest hunk of junk I know," he heard her joke over the gunfire. He didn't have to see her to know she smiled.

\------

Plenty of lead and one heroic save later and the detective and the cowgirl had the leader holed up in what used to be the penthouse.

As he had lost men the raider had gone up floor by floor, his once fortified position turning into a death trap. Now, with no way out that didn't involve facing the duo downstairs, he paced past the busted windows of the penthouse suite on the sixth floor.

They watched him sweat. He stalked like a caged animal, screaming obscenities and unintelligible insults down at them after he was all out of grenades. Cupped in one palm, no bigger than a grapefruit, was Mr. Whiskers. His other hand was now occupied by a 9mm handgun.

It was only the three of them left, but they couldn't afford to miss. There was an innocent life at stake, and that innocent life was being waved directly in front of their bullseye. Rory lowered her rifle, calling out, "We're willin' to make a deal here so we can all come outta this in one piece!"

"What the fuck do you want?" The raider screamed back, his rough and lean frame appearing again in the window.

Nick felt stupid saying it out loud, but told him the truth, "We only want the cat."

Both Rory and Nick cringed as the raider visibly started at this information, head snapping look down at the fluff ball he had shoved in his army jacket for safe-keeping. "You want the fucking _cat_?!"

'Fucking _cat_ ' echoed around the empty plaza, getting an amazing amount of reverb. Nick felt lame in comparison as he dryly replied, "Yeah, that's all we want."

The raider stared down at Mr. Whiskers intensely, and Nick found himself praying he didn't toss the kitten out the window. For a good fifteen seconds the man didn't move an inch, gazing down into the small eyes of his newly acquired pet. Suddenly, he was back to screaming again, "Well you can't fucking have him, he's mine! Get the fuck out of here before I blow your goddamn brains out!"

He sent a careless shot their way, yet another lump of lead burying into the asphalt. If he was trying to be scary, that moment had passed when he decided to gaze lovingly at the kitten in his pocket. As it stood the move just seemed wasteful.

However, the raider was so high up that they were at a bit of a stalemate: he had no need to shoot them as long as he wasn't being shot, and they couldn't afford to miss and kill Mr. Whiskers. An eerie quiet reigned, and Nick tried to think of something he could say.

The raider turned away, and a tap on his shoulder knocked Nick out of his problem-solving. "Keep him talkin', would ya?"

 _That's easy enough._ "Hey!" he called again, getting the animal lover's attention. Angry eyes blazed at him from six stories above, but as Nick heard the _clink_ of reloading beside him he knew he had to keep his attention and keep it well.

"We don't want anything to do with you—in fact, if you hadn't started firing at us we wouldn't have even spit in your direction! Just give us the cat so this can be over with!"

"Fuck you! It's _my_ cat and _I_ found it!" Reasoning wasn't getting Valentine anywhere, but the more argumentative the stubborn raider got, the closer he stepped to the window. Nick was betting that was a good thing.

"Is it really worth your life?"

"Like hell I'll cave to bastards like you! I'd love to see you come up here and face me like men you cowards!"

"Kid, the only real 'man' here is you, so why don't you just hand the cat over—he's got a little girl who misses him."

Nick's last attempt at avoiding violence died when the raider, clad in mismatched armor and his dark green jacket, screamed back, "You'll get him over my dead body!"

A calm voice spoke beside Nick, "Happy to oblige, hotshot." In one movement Rory's gun was propped up over the barrier and she took her shot.

It was still as they waited, the crack of the rifle ringing in their ears. No return fire came, no expletives, no screaming. Rory slumped onto the concrete barrier, letting out a relieved sigh. "Thanks for keepin' his attention," she said, letting one hand rest on her side while the other hung onto her rifle.

Once nothing else came jumping out of the woodwork, yelling and shooting, Nick let out a sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. _Now that was a close one._ Truthfully, he was still a bit shocked she had pulled the trigger, but even more of his mind was preoccupied with wondering how she had hit him. "That shot was one in a million, kid," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"

"It's a little skill I've picked up, is all. You've got to have a few tricks up your sleeve for the road."

Nick wasn't quite satisfied by that answer, "I can't say I've ever seen _anyone_ shoot like that, Annie Oakley."

"Fast is good, but accurate is better," she smirked, tipping her hat back with a small laugh.

"Let's just say you did them both."

She shrugged, giving him an uneven grin, "It's all an adventure, Mr. Valentine."

"You're tellin' me, kid," he agreed, letting it all sink in. After a moment of silence, he was able to articulate his thoughts. "Hey, back there..." he started, but Rory cut him off.

"Sorry for roughin' ya up with it, but I ain't sorry for what I did."

"I wasn't going to scold you," Nick sighed, _kids these days._ "Just remember I'm metal, will ya? Don't go jumping in front of bullets for an old synth."

"All I did was push ya a bit, nothin' fancy," Rory laughed, but Nick noticed her hand stayed on her side. His eyes narrowed and he holstered his pistol, using his good hand to take hers away from her stomach.

A patch of scarlet leaked through her dusty shirt and her palm came back stained red. Fingers clasped around her wrist, Valentine took a moment to sigh, rolling his eyes. _Of course._ "What was it I just said about bullets a moment ago?"

A little sheepishly, the cowgirl gave him a smile, "Haven't got a clue." He pinched the bridge of his nose, but couldn't help but laugh.

"You're something else, miss Vegas."

"I think people'd be dissapointed if I wasn't." Her easy grin was accompanied by a shrill whistle, which evidently gave the dogs the all-clear. Dogmeat and Roscoe came bounding into view and stood in front of them, tails wagging and not a scratch on them.

"Nice to see _someone_ got out of here cleanly," Nick quipped, standing up. "All this trouble for one little fuzzball," he sighed, offering his hand out to his companion.

"That's just my kinda luck, but hey—if you're in for a cap, you're in for the Madre, right?"

Her smile was so easy-going Valentine found himself chuckling. "The saying is 'In for a penny, in for a pound.'"

Rory quirked an eyebrow at him, "That's not how I've heard it."

"How's your side?" he asked, preferring not to go down that road again. He already had Ellie for that game.

"Ah, this? It's just a graze."

Admittedly, knowing it was a minor inconvenience let Nick breathe a lot easier. " _I'm_ in the business of helping people, remember? Not the other way around." He teased.

"If I ain't gonna help, what good is me tagging along? Just to talk your ear off?"

"You're a fun one, I'll give you that." he chuckled, slinging her arm over his shoulder.

"I'm fi-"

"Ah, ah, ah; _you'll_ carry the cat, I'll help you along."

Rory threw him a dubious look. "Humor me," he responded plainly.

"Whatever you want, Mr. Valentine," she relented with a breathy laugh, allowing herself to be led to sit on the frame of a rusted car out in front of the apartment complex. Soon enough Nick was back down from the top floor, a precious angry lump trying it's best to bite through his metal hand.

Mr. Whiskers did not take kindly to being touched after all the violence, but following a bunch of fussing and "here, kitty, kitty"s, Nick had just done it the hard way.

Once he had scooped up the ragamuffin ball of teeth and fur, Valentine had also glanced over at the dead raider. It didn't take a detective to understand why he hadn't gotten back up.

The bullet had gotten him right between the eyes, and Nick gazed out the window at Rory, a miniature sitting on the car hood. _From that far away..?_

All Commonwealth residents were used to violence, no matter how much the detective disliked it.

It was an animalistic part of life that he had seen far too many times before to be bothered by, despite some desperate part of him always hoping for a better outcome. As usual, though, Nick was stuck staring into the glassy eyes of the dead.

He wished he could say it was the gore that had bothered him—seeing the inside of that man's brain laid out like a persian rug. But it wasn't.

Glancing back down at the cowgirl, the wind rustling his coat through the shattered remains of the raider's den, it wasn't the death that bothered him. _It was the fact she had hit._

Nick decided he was probably better off not wondering.

Mr. Whiskers had fought him the whole way down, bright blue eyes blazing with the ferocity of a little monster. Wrangling the demon off of it's spot on his chest he grimaced as it sunk tiny needles into his skin, sucking air in through his teeth.

"Haven't you ever heard not to bite the hand that feeds you, little guy? Well that applies to the hand that rescues ya, too." he snarked, snatching his scratched hand away. When the old synth put him on the hood next to Rory the kitten showed no fear, bristling like the big bad he thought himself to be.

What Mr. Whiskers didn't count on was running into an opponent he couldn't gnaw his way through.

Leaning down, Chesterfield started whispering to him, outstretching a hand and getting the cat to sniff her. Reluctantly, he creeped forward. "We're just here to take you back to little miss Lacey, is all," she reassured him, unafraid of the claws that so easily stung Nick.

Valentine eyed the fuzzy viper with a small huff, thinking, _I remember why I was never a cat person._ As she touched the kitten, though, it untensed and nuzzled into her palm, trailing it's slim body along her hand. "Quite the magic trick you got there," Nick said, raising his eyebrows. It was a world of difference.

Rory beamed, watching the scruffy kitten rub against her. "No tricks here, just good ol' fashioned luck."

"Where was that luck back when raiders were trying to take my tail off?"

"Now I never said the luck was evenly distributed," Rory quipped. She had an airy laugh, seemingly carried along by the breeze itself; the kind he could even remember the old Nick amused by. Despite the sneezing that seemed to occur as soon as she started touching the cat, she was in a jovial mood, and oohed and awed just like he could remember Jennifer doing when she saw babies.

He kept an eye on her as they set off, but her side had seemingly stopped bleeding and she didn't seem to mind the sneezing all that much. Valentine was very relieved. Ignoring the gunshot wound and increasingly aggressive allergies in favor of amusing him, Rory sung old cowboy tunes on the way back, the dogs howling along with her. It wasn't exactly jazz, but hearing such a happy chorus made him smile nonetheless.

They must've been quite the sight: a synth, a wounded cowgirl, two dogs, and a kitten. Most of which were singing along to Jingle Jangle Jingle.

"We could open up an act at the Tops," she joked, giving him a wink. "If you're up for such fame and fortune, that is." Now _that_ made Valentine laugh.

Rory was even chatting happily when they got her checked out in Diamond City, teasing him about his worry and petting the now purring Mr. Whiskers. He was a puddle in her hands. "I told ya I'd be healthier'n a Brahmin, now didn't I?"

"You seem to say a lot of things, kid." She bust out into a laugh, which was followed by another sneeze.

"Are you... _allergic to cats?_ " Nick asked, incredulous.

"Is that what it's called? Where ya sneeze all the time and your eyes get all watery? _'Allergic'_?"

The detective watched her rub at her face, her nose red and eyes irritated. "Yeah. Doesn't that bother you, kid? If you had told me I wouldn't've had you hold the cat," he sighed, reaching to pick up Mr. Whiskers.

Rory gently smacked his metal hand away, "No way; ya ask me to hold the darn cat and I'm gonna do it. Besides," she smiled, smushing Mr. Whiskers' face up to her's, "We're pals now." Despite his concern at the now sniffling cowgirl, Nick couldn't help but goodnaturedly roll his eyes. _Pals, huh?_

"Rubbing faces with him probably isn't going to help those allergies," he advised.

Rory shrugged. "'Long as I ain't around 'em too long it doesn't do me any harm. What good is a kitten if ya can't canoodle with it, anyway?"

"I wasn't aware they had any use, 'canoodle' or not," he replied dryly.

Rory clicked her tongue, but a smirk twisted her lips. Petting Mr. Whiskers on the soft spot behind his ears, she replied with a faint smile, "Now that's not very nice of you, Mr. Valentine. Ain't exactly the way to treat such a sweet little friend we've got here."

"I've still got holes in my jacket from your 'sweet little friend' there."

"Well not everyone can be as perfect as our detective here, now can we, Mr. Whiskers?" Rory talked softly to the kitten and let him bat at her fingers, using that baby voice it seemed to Nick that most people took with animals.

She told Mr. Whiskers how happy she was to meet him and that he was a sweetheart and every other manner of compliment one could give to a kitten, and Nick found himself tugging at his collar.

Part of him felt strange watching such a scene, and if he could've been blushing he would've, but he was glad to see not all the wasteland kids had lost their love for one of man's best friends. "Any particular reason you're so good with animals?" He questioned, thinking of her reputation.

Letting the kitten crawl up her dark duster and settle on her shoulder, Rory shrugged, "No particular reason, I don't think. It's just always been that way. I try an' go by what my father told me as a kid: 'When you give a lesson in meanness to a critter or a person, don't be surprised if they learn their lesson.'"

There was certainly a reason people said she could charm animals, though Valentine wasn't sure he would have believed it if he hadn't seen it himself—cheesy old west sayings the cause or not.

"Man, this girl will love you forever," she suddenly spoke to him, moving her eyes up from the cat.

"I _did_ almost get shot for that fuzzball."

Rory took his deadpan better than Ellie did and only jokingly scoffed, shoving the kitten in his hands as she jumped to her feet once she was given the all clear. Her side would burn for a while, but with a little gauze and a stimpak injection into her side they got their 25 caps worth of medical treatment.

"Oh, come on, now, I can't hold this thing.”

“Sure you can.” She said, starting out towards the center of town with a smirk.

“Hey, kid, I mean it! It's–oh God, it's _squirming._ ”

"You oughta be the one to return the kitten; it's your case and therefore your client. Besides," she continued, pleased with herself, "a little love never hurt anybody, Mr. Valentine."

Nick looked down at the cat, big blue eyes staring back up saccharinely. A silent battle of wills.

To be fair, Mr. Whiskers _was_ actually pretty cute.

"Guess you were just scared, huh, little fella?" he relented with a sigh, using his damaged hand to pet the top of it's head. That seemed to satisfy the bandaged cowgirl and Rory moved him along with a confident stride, somehow leading without knowing the destination.

Nick just had to smile and shake his head, listening to her cheerfully whistle. Deep down, he was pleased to feel the rumble of a purr against his chest. _Maybe cats aren't so bad after all,_ he thought.

"You've got to let me pay you something for all this trouble," he insisted, causing her to stop to look at him.

One of Rory's unkempt eyebrows raised, "I told ya I don't need anythin' for it." Her nonchalance wasn't gonna work.

"Really, kid, you got _shot_ , for Christ's sake."

"Happens more than you'd think," she replied, shrugging.

"I mean it, Rory." he said, trying to be authoritative.

A smirk suddenly crawled it's way onto her face, "I'm tellin' ya, _friends_ call me Chess."

Once Nick realized what she meant, he couldn't help but smile, either. Some Commonwealth residents still had that good in them, and it gave the battered synth hope. He sighed, "Not that I think it's a fair trade, but if it's what you want I suppose it won't kill me. I'll owe you a favor, though."

"Then I'll say it's a deal, Mr. Valentine." Mr. Whiskers still along for the ride, they shook hands.

"Just call me Nick, then."

She grinned brightly, "Not in my lifetime."

"Of course not—that'd be too easy, wouldn't it?" He complained, but the wry smile still twisted his lips. All of his days ended up strange, but Nick seemed to meet someone interesting all the time. A kitten-wrangling cowgirl would certainly be one of them.

When the detective and his new friend reached the door of Lacey's house with Mr. Whiskers nestled against him he was almost sad to see the fuzzy guy go.

It must have come from Chess, but Nick had gained a begrudging amount of fondness for the ridiculous creature who had settled into his palm. _I'll have to bring by some Mirelurk cakes,_ he thought.

"You gonna miss 'im?" Chesterfield asked, eyes twinkling mischeviously.

Nick was pulled out of his thoughts, realizing he had been staring down at the troublemaker. Unable to even be embarrassed, he could imagine all the teasing Ellie would have given him, "You rub off more than I expected, kid." Amused, Valentine gave one last pet to Mr. Whisker's chin and rapped on the door, stepping back to wait.

"Don't worry, I'll miss him, too." Chess said, and Nick felt himself smile again. _I'll miss you, too, kid._

When Nick's pint-sized client opened the door with the biggest grin he had ever seen, one word reflected in her eyes: Hero.

And that made it all worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This is my first fic so all comments, kudos, etc are greatly appreciated! I'd love to know what you thought; comments are my lifeblood. ;)


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